Uhm, I've been busy. I apologize. I don't think anyone really cares except for my mom, though. ;) Either way, it's a good idea to write stuff down and store it somewhere (and why not on the internet?!) because you never know when you'll need it. Maybe I'll write a memoir one day. Or an autobiographical novel. Who knows...
I've been thinking a lot about my own writing lately. And how I just really need to get back into it. I have ideas... tons of ideas. I just haven't honestly given myself the time to sit down and work them out. It's not even about selling them or making money off them or even, really, publishing them. Right now, it's more about actually finishing something I started. To be perfectly honest, I haven't completed a single short story or novel-length work since Matt and I started dating.
Before that, I was fifteen years old and queen of fan fiction (strictly characters from bands I liked listening to at the time) and I was working on my first story with original characters. It seemed promising; I had a really good following in a few online communities and a decent amount of traffic to my LiveJournal, where I posted everything. I was really liking what I was writing.
But then Matt happened. And I let the relationship eat up a lot of my free time. I spent time with (or, God knows, waiting) for him and when he wasn't there, we were on the phone. I used to use writing as a way to pass the time because I didn't have anything else. Friends came and went quite frequently, so many of my closest friends were online. They were dependable and always there when I signed on and they were incredibly supportive of everything I produced, even if the subject matter was... questionable... Come to think of it, I really miss that. I was a weird kid, but we were all pretty weird. We all had issues we were working through, hence the reason we were online every second of every day.
Back then, especially in the summer, I'd be up until 5 AM just writing and chatting. I'd finish a chapter, send it to a friend (Ashlee, most times) to proofread (though, at the time, I don't think we knew that's what we were really doing), and then I'd post it everywhere people were reading. The next day, I'd have more than fifty comments to read through and questions to answer. It was... great. People liked what I wrote (or at least liked the people I wrote about) and it was empowering. I think those late nights are probably among the strongest reasons I chose to go into publishing. I loved reading what other people were writing, I loved sending them critiques, I loved writing my own stuff. I was a little editor; my adolescence definitely foreshadowed my young adulthood/beginning of my professional career.
I don't blame Matt for my lack of creativity the past seven and a half years. Not at all. I know why things have been this way. As I mentioned, I wrote to get myself through a lot of rough, teenage stuff. I was bouncing around between groups of friends and then it was just me and another girl against the world. And then she got a boyfriend and I slowly became background music. I couldn't play sports anymore, I didn't have a ton of close friends, and I needed something to do with my time. So I started writing. And I met all these really great, sincere people through my writing communities. And we had all the same interests. And they always wanted more of what I had to offer. They kept me going. Then Matt and I got close, and I wasn't unhappy anymore. I spent less time online. I didn't have as many issues to work through, to write myself through.
And here I sit. Seven and a half years later (almost to the day my writing died) and I have almost nothing to show for it. Tons of ideas are in a giant binder, which is still packed away from the move. All my old stories are saved on CDs, but I don't ever pull them out because I know they won't be as good today as they were years ago. And they're not anything that I can even revise and use today. They were silly, but they were a part of my childhood, too. And I refuse to just throw them out.
I need to set a few goals. Forget contests and book deals. Forget writing groups and beta reading. I just need to do my own thing on my own time and then go from there. I need to set aside some time and just do it. Stop talking about it and just do it. That's how moving to NYC and working in publishing worked out. Maybe it's a life lesson. Put your money where your mouth is. That kind of thing. Who knows. All I know is that it needs to happen.
The urge has been strong recently, mostly due to what I've been working on, in and out of the office. Freelance has started up with my old company again. This requires me to research and write summaries about mostly upcoming books. Whenever I get one I'd be interested in reading, I wish I had written it. Whenever I get one that sounds absolutely horrible, but is being published by a major house, I think, "If they could do it, I could do it."
At work, I'm editing my first original novel. I acquired it, I formed a great relationship with the author (he seriously calls me every day to check in; I tell everyone I talk to him more than my dad), and now I'm finally combing through the manuscript. Track changes on. (The poor, poor guy.) I've been sending it back to him part by part, and he always calls to say how "excellent" the edits are and how smart I am and how much he agrees with all my suggestions. At one point, I told him I thought there was just way too much dialogue in one chapter and suggested he break it up with a few details about the scene or action between the characters. So he called and asked me if it'd be possible for me to send him an example so he knew what I was looking for. I turned a 300-word conversation into a 700-word scene in less than ten minutes. And it felt wonderful. I was so proud of it. I sent it back and he sent me a one-word email: "Excellent!" And it was. Definitely not my best piece of writing ever, but actually working on it felt great. I came home and told Matt that I felt like that was it. That's all I needed to get back into this.
So this weekend (which happens to be three days long!), my goal is to get something started. First on paper, then on the computer. I don't care if it's not something I totally finish right now. But I know that if I like it enough, if I work the idea out from beginning to end on paper (outline... I outline everything), then I'll want to go back to it. I'll want to finish it. I just need something to finish first.
But before I do any of that, I have to finish a 380-page proofread by Tuesday and write 20 book summaries by Wednesday. This is my life. It's stressful and demanding and full of deadlines, but I love it.
Instructions for you: If you ever text me/call me/see me and ask me what I'm up to and I say "nothing," please ask me about my writing. Guilt me into it. I need the push sometimes.
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